


The A-Team

by nakymatonlapsi



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Relationship, Asexuality, Cuddling & Snuggling, Fluff, Getting Together, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:31:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,514
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2369471
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nakymatonlapsi/pseuds/nakymatonlapsi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Courfeyrac meets Combeferre online.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The A-Team

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, here we go. I proudly present to you about 6.5k of courferre. This has been in the works for such a long time and i'm pretty happy i can finally get it out there. Tell me what you think in the comments!
> 
> (Combeferre and Courfeyrac do obviously not belong to me, even though I like to pretend they do.)

_“The user Ferre has replied to your post.”_

 Courfeyrac groans in frustration as he drops his head onto the table. It’s currently three in the morning, he has an essay on autodidactic learning to finish and he has gotten no less than six angry responses since he left a comment on a post about half an hour ago, calling out the original poster’s blatant transphobia. It isn’t even as if he specifically cares a lot about the post itself. He was just reading through the forum, distracting himself from his unfinished work, but when he entered that particular thread there had been no way he would have stayed quiet. Now though, he is spending more time receiving increasingly aggressive and even more transphobic tirades than working on his essay, which doesn’t exactly count as productivity anymore. Additionally, he has a class early in the morning.  Even so, he can’t let this go quite yet. With a sigh, he clicks on the post.

 What he sees pleasantly surprises him. This ‘Ferre’ isn’t only on his side, they’re also eloquent and cutting to the point in a way that Courfeyrac wishes he himself could be. He is good with words, can evoke emotion and connect to others very well, but speaking to the point isn’t really his forte. Enthousiastically, he thumbs up the post because, yes, this is exactly what he was trying to argue and they’re ripping all those horrific counter arguments to shreds. He pauses for a moment, then clicks on their profile picture (which is a close up of a moth and Courfeyrac thinks it’s weirdly endearing) and reads their ‘about me’.

There isn’t a lot of information there, but the guy has stated his preferred pronouns -he/him/his-, that he’s a medical student and as interests he gives moths, literature and social justice. Courfeyrac has to think of Enjolras, his best friend back home in Paris. She’s the leader of their small group of student activists and would probably really enjoy talking to Courfeyrac’s unexpected helper. There is no further contact information but he allows receiving messages from strangers. Without much thought, Courf opens up the chat window, types up a short message, and hits ‘send’.

 

Combeferre glances at his watch. It’s ten past nine in the morning and it looks like he’ll be swamped in work all day. It’s his day off from university, which means he’s got a bunch of reading to do but he’s also volunteering at the local wildlife center today. He’s only been there for ten minutes and the day looks out to be very stressful already. As he cleans yet another cage, his thoughts wander back to the discussion he had had this morning on the internet, backing up some poor guy who had had the audacity to call people out on their problematic behavior and as a consequence had gotten quite the shitstorm directed at himself. Combeferre had stepped in because the guy was completely right and he had deserved a break. He had expected him to take his ‘out’ and never come back to that particular corner of the internet but to his surprise he had found a message in his inbox a couple of minutes later: 

‘Hi Ferre (if that’s your name anyways), thanks for having my back in that atrocious discussion. You saved my day (well, night since it’s three am and also no offense but i think my unfinished essay might still ruin it) and i’ll be forever grateful.

Have a nice day! Courf’

It had made him smile a bit, if only for the enthusiasm of the guy and okay, maybe it had made him curious enough to check out his user page He went by the user name ‘courfeyRAD’ which was all sorts of ridiculous, especially since it indeed seemed to be some derivation of his real name. There was a fair amount of information next to his icon, a colourful cartoon character (Combeferre was a bit disappointed at that because he would have liked to know what a guy who spent his nights arguing social justice as a means of procrastination looked like). He found out that Courf was 23, from Paris but apparently currently living overseas, and enthusiastically liked a variety of different increasingly obscure-sounding bands and cooking, as well as knitting. He also described himself as ‘outgoing, open-minded and a tiny bit annoying (that’s what Enjolras says anyway but she’s just boring and jealous)’. Seeing as this guy seemed like someone he might get along with, he had decided that there was no harm in a friendly conversation,had clicked on the answer button and had written:

‘Hi Courf, no problem at all. Count on me to save you from the depths of the internet.  Go to bed, or finish that essay at least. Good night! Combeferre’

There hadn’t been another answer after that, which Combeferre took to mean that the guy had actually gotten on with his work or alternatively passed out on his desk. He had had to leave for the center shortly afterwards, but somehow the message was still on his mind. He silently wondered if the other man would ever reply or if the matter was discussed and nothing more to be said. Somehow he found himself wishing that Courfeyrac would reply.

 

Eight hours later, after a very exhausting and mildly upsetting day at work and a short visit at the cafe Musichetta and Bossuet run on the beach promenade,  Combeferre arrives at home significantly tired and worn-out. The chat with his two oldest friends (he has known Chetta since Middle School and Bossuet since Chetta had started dating them in High School)  has lifted his spirits considerably but it had been cut short by his increasing sleepiness and he slumps his shoulders as he collapses onto the sofa. Combeferre closes his eyes for a moment, relishing in the drowsiness that overcomes him, before pulling himself upright with a sigh, pushing the power button on his laptop next to him on the coffee table and going to make some tea. He has only meant to check his e-mail account and social media but almost without thinking he finds himself back on the forum front page, and he can’t help the careful anticipation at the sight of the little red 1 over the message symbol. The message is indeed from Courf:

“Hi again, Combeferre, I didn’t get to sleep but i did finish the essay at about six so that’s something. I got a very very good Caramel Latte to keep me awake as well, my friend Grantaire is the best at making those, and we had breakfast together. I had to go to hand the essay in after that…”

Combeferre blinks. The guy has sent him about a page’s worth of stories about his day, his friends and his feelings on the current immigration debate in the European Union as if they’ve been friends forever. The thing is, Combeferre hasn’t really done internet friendships before. He has had discussions and arguments but he’s never really gotten to know anyone beyond that. It’s not his style to just message strangers. Courfeyrac though, seems to be confident, self-assured and open. He probably does it all the time. It’s most likely not a big deal for him to tell random people about what he had for dinner. Regardless, Combeferre can’t help the excitement unfolding in his stomach as he starts typing up a response.

 

*

 

Courfeyrac has a crush. That in itself shouldn’t be big news, he has crushes all the time. He is a person that embraces their feelings readily and crushes come to him easily; a beautiful smile, a nice voice, a certain warmth in their demeanour and Courfeyrac is smitten with someone for a few days before he readily moves on.  Many of his crushes have turned into acquaintances, friendships even.

The special thing about this particular crush, though, is that he has never even seen the object of his affection or talked to him in person. He doesn’t usually concentrate on appearance alone either, but getting fluttery feelings in your stomach thinking about a moth icon is not really something he has done before. The second surprise is that it seems to last. He has been talking to Combeferre for weeks now, starting out with long private messages on the forum but soon they had moved those over to e-mails for convenience. They’re in contact almost daily, sometimes discussing philosophical problems in depth, sometimes sharing silly jokes and anecdotes from their lifes. It’s wonderful and Courfeyrac feels like he has known Combeferre forever. They just click and even though they  disagree sometimes, they really understand each other on a level he has only ever experienced with Enjolras.

Courfeyrac really likes Combeferre’s quiet but firm interest in the world around him and admires him for his ability to choose his words very deliberately and fully commit to every task he takes on. Combeferre has told him he only feels entitled to speak about topic he is educated about, but instead of not speaking about things he rather spends a lot of time to gather the necessary information. Courfeyrac thinks he’s too hard on himself sometimes, always striving for absolute competency when profound knowledge would do enough to hold a meaningful conversation but he sees how much Combeferre cares and he can’t help but adore that in him.

When they talk, Courfeyrac doesn’t feel like he needs to hold back on his own level of compassion, on how much he cares about people. He often cares less about the facts and more about the lives involved and Combeferre has never failed to provide him with important background information. Even though they haven’t known each other for a very long time, Courfeyrac feels the need to reach out to Combeferre more and more, wanting to tell him about the small and big things happening throughout his day and sharing his thoughts and feelings with him. Recently, he has even needled Combeferre’s snapchat username out of him, even though he told him he never really uses it. Since then, Courfeyrac has sent him a grand total of 76 snapchats, mostly pictures of himself, his friends, the cake he baked on friday and the view on his way to school. Combeferre has opened all of them. He has send a couple of snaps back; pictures of the sea, of animals Combeferre took care of and of the book he was reading. (Frustratingly, Combeferre doesn’t seem to be the type to send selfies at all.)

    

Chetta and Bossuet grin at him as his phone vibrates for the fourth time in the last ten minutes. Combeferre smiles at them in what he hopes is an apologetic manner before unlocking it and opening the snapchat he received. It’s a selfie of Courfeyrac, together with a brown boy with a wide smile whose scarf is so big it seems to envelope him fully. The caption reads: ‘jolly times with Joly’.  He tries to refrain from smiling at his phone too much as he screen captures it but Chetta and Bossuet have known him for years and know that the only person who ever sends him snapchats is Courfeyrac.

‘So...what’s Courfeyrac up to these days?’ Bossuet asks innocently. In lieu of an answer, Combeferre slides his phone over. Chetta laughs when she sees it. ‘Jolly indeed. But his friend is very cute. Do you think you could get us their number?’

 

*

 

When Courfeyrac comes home after his lunch with Marius, he shoots a quick e-mail to Combeferre out of habit. They never really get to talk in real time, simply because they live in vastly different time zones and one of them is always off to work or school or in desperate need of sleep. This time though, Combeferre’s answer is prompt, even though it must be early in the morning for him. He has only written a couple of lines but they sound subdued and exhausted and Courfeyrac frowns at his screen. His heart clenches at the thought of Combeferre being unhappy. Courfeyrac cares deeply about his friends and he can barely stand seeing them sad. The fact that it’s Combeferre, who hardly ever seems out of balance or upset, makes him even more desperate to make it better.

A thought comes to his mind and they haven’t really discussed it but oh well, he might as well ask. With a small hopeful smile he sends just one line: ‘do you have skype? my username’s courfeyrad ;) x’. 

A couple of minutes later he has an incoming call. He can’t help the little squee that escapes him as he sits up and adjusts his webcam before clicking on the camera symbol. It takes a moment for the picture to load and he can see himself before he sees Combeferre. When he does though, he has to take a deep breath. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest and he’s suddenly glad that Combeferre is still separated from him by a screen because he thinks that if he’d be there in person, he’d probably just faint dead on track.  On the other hand, he wishes nothing more than to actually be able to reach out and hug him and never let go. 

‘Hello’ he breathes and his voice is probably betraying everything he’s feeling right now but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he’s facing the most stupidly gorgeous lanky awkward dude he has ever had the pleasure to see on a grainy webcam picture and he has adorable fluffy brown hair and beautiful big eyes and he smiles at him and it’s wonderful and oh, his voice.

“Hi. Are you okay? I didn’t think you’d be that quiet.” 

Combeferre sounds a bit nervous and even though Courfeyrac doesn’t miss the underlying tiredness his smile reaches his eyes, is genuine and wonderful and makes warmth uncurl in Courfeyrac’s stomach. He grins.

“I’m fine. Great actually. Just a bit taken aback by this.” He pauses. “Seeing you I mean. Face to face. Well, kind of. Not really.”

Combeferre nods, adjusts his glasses with two fingers and Courfeyrac is immediately in love with that gesture, wants to see him do it a million times more. Oh, and he’s probably also really in love with the whole guy. Has been in love with him since forever. The realisation makes it so much harder to breathe evenly but he tries to push it aside, concentrate on the moment, deal with everything else later. It works a bit and his voice sounds almost casual as he asks:

‘Are _you_ okay though?’ 

Combeferre sights and rubs a hand over his temple. ‘I’m fine. Just tired. Exhausted. I’ve been working for about two weeks straight.’ Courfeyrac nods, he knows about Combeferre’s medical studies, his job at a supermarket, his volunteer work. The guy does a lot of things and he puts all he has into all of them.

‘I’m not keeping you awake, am I? ‘Cause I can leave you alone if you want to sleep.’

He hopes his voice doesn’t betray just how much he doesn’t want him to say yes. To his luck, Combeferre shakes his head decidedly.

’No. I can’t sleep.’

He is silent for a moment, then says softly: ‘Talk to me about something,please. Basically anything works. I just need some distraction from my own brain.’

 

Combeferre shakes his head, but to himself he thinks, _'yes, you do keep me awake at night Courfeyrac, please don’t ever stop'_. The feeling isn’t exactly something Combeferre has a lot of experience with. Actually, it isn’t something that has ever happened before at all.

Combeferre doesn’t really do romantic relationships. He had been intrigued by the idea in High School, when his friends had started dating, but the crushes they were talking about had just never happened to him. He had gone on a few dates with people he liked but it had always ended with him realizing that any feelings he had for them were purely platonic. Eventually, he had just stopped and focused on other things and it hadn’t really bothered him. Combeferre had loosely identified as ‘on the aromantic spectrum’ a few times when it had come up in conversation but he had never put too much thought into choosing a label. Recently, he has started to wonder if ‘greyromantic’ might be what he’d feel most comfortable with.

The point is, Courfeyrac makes his heart beat faster in his chest whenever he sends a snapchat, a message or an e-mail. And this, seeing him ‘live’, hearing his voice, seeing all the little mannerisms and gestures he makes, has Combeferre almost believing he’s in love. Which is probably not entirely a good thing but right now he’s really not in any mood to give a damn. He’s had a long week, and he just wants to listen to Courfeyrac’s adorable french accent and look at him smiling that brilliant flashy smile until he feels a little less bleak and exhausted.

Courfeyrac launches into a story immediately, telling him about his roommate who is apparently pretty awkward in his pursuit of a romantic relationship and then choosing topics randomly, mixing little snippets of his day with anecdotes about his friends back home in France and the book he’s read recently. He gets out his e-reader at some point and starts flicking through it, reading passages out loud to Combeferre and the latter can finally, a 5:30 in the morning, feel sleepiness settle into his body like a heavy blanket. He is, however, totally not ready to let Courfeyrac go just yet, so he just finds a more comfortable position and let’s the lull of his voice float over him as he closes his eyes.

 

When Courfeyrac looks up from his device and finds that Combeferre is asleep, curled around his laptop like a cat and snoring softly, his voice catches in his throat. He can’t help but stare openly, now that Combeferre won’t notice,  and the longer he looks the more impossibly beautiful and precious Combeferre seems to him. Courfeyrac’s realisation earlier, their first face to face conversation and the soft lines on Combeferre’s sleeping face have suddenly made all of this feel so much more real and so much more important and Courfeyrac is a little overwhelmed by it. It’s hard to fathom how someone he’s never seen in person has become such an integral part of his life in such a short time.

 

*

 

As Combeferre walks along the beach on his way to work early in the morning, he realises that he really needs to talk to someone about his feelings. He’s pretty sure his ill-advised crush on Courfeyrac isn’t going away on it’s own by now, not after he video-chatted with him until he fell asleep and has video-chatted with him almost everyday since, and without someone to talk to, he’ll just keep bottling everything up and feel miserable afterwards. The thing is, he really likes Courfeyrac. He likes Courfeyrac so much he can’t think when he’s in touch with him and sometimes he has almost convinced himself that Courfeyrac might return his feelings. But they are far away from each other and even if he did feel something for Combeferre, they wouldn’t work out anyway, because Courfeyrac is amazing and extroverted and flirty and probably totally allosexual and Combeferre isn’t. And he should probably try and stop thinking about Courfeyrac as much as he does but he really can’t and it’s not a situation he has ever been in before and if he’s honest, Combeferre has a hard time coming to terms with that, too.

As it is, Feuilly is probably the best person to talk to about this.

 

‘Okay, let me just get this straight: So you really like this guy, and you think he might like you too but you won’t tell him because you think he’s allosexual and therefore won’t want to be in a relationship with you?’

They’re in their favourite pub and Combeferre is drinking organic lemonade and pouring his heart out to Feuilly, who seems to be slightly nonplussed and somewhat amused by it.

‘I hate to break this to you Combeferre, but you are completely buying into all the stereotypes you tell other people off for right now.’

His red-haired friend sips on his beer before elaborating: ‘Let me walk you through this: First of all, how does the fact that he’s outgoing and flirty make him sexually attracted to people by default?’

Combeferre cringes at being called out on that particular brand of stereotyping and Feuilly nods at him in understanding, because he knows how hard Combeferre has worked to not make those mistakes anymore.

‘See, you don’t even believe that yourself. Secondly, even if he’s allo, why do you think he wouldn't be ready to accommodate your needs in a relationship? I only know what you have told me about the guy but he doesn't’ seem like an asshole to me. So what are you really afraid of?’

Combeferre fiddles with his glass, a gesture completely uncharacteristic for him, takes a deep breath and considers lying but he doesn’t lie as a rule and also Feuilly would see right through him so he opts for the truth:

‘I have no idea what to do. I have next to no experience with this... romance stuff. How do I do this? What If i’m misreading everything? What if he isn’t interested at all? It would be so easy for him to break off all contact. I don’t want to lose his friendship because of these feelings.’

Feuilly looks at him in earnest. ‘I cannot tell you that it’s impossible that that could happen and you know that. He might break off all contact with you. But consider the facts: you have feelings for him. You and he have been in touch constantly for the last three months. You said yourself that he doesn’t seem the type of person to run from difficult situations. Your two options are to not tell him about your feelings and forfeit all chances of ever having that kind of relationship with him except if he should ever bring it up. The other one would be to take agency, tell him and see. You’re a very honest person, Combeferre, and I know you take pride in that. You also really dislike not being in control of a situation. You don’t need to ask me to know what would be the better option for you.’

 

Enjolras is probably not the right person to talk to about this but one has limited options if one’s living on the other side of the globe as most of one’s friends. Enjolras is the one with the most erratic sleeping schedule out of the bunch. She is also Courfeyrac’s best friend, so there’s that. Currently she’s squinting at him through her webcam, eyebrows raised uncomprehendingly.

‘Why don’t you just talk to him?’

Courfeyrac flaps on his back dramatically, his laptop shaking on the bed beside him and sighs:‘Why don’t I just talk to him? Because he’s gorgeous and smart and he wears hand-knitted sweaters and has that impossible Belgian accent and holy shit Enjolras, i cannot just talk to him, okay, i cannot fuck this up??’

Enjolras doesn’t seem particularly moved by his despair. ‘I don’t understand Courf. You never had any problems talking to people about your feelings? You are the one who’s always preaching to everyone how ‘communication is key’, so what’s different with this guy? Why do you think talking to him will fuck everything up?’

Courfeyrac groans in frustration. ‘I don’t even know, Enjolras. I just feel like this is very important. And i feel like i can’t possibly be good enough for a person like Combeferre, because, honestly, he’s perfect and I am so insecure about myself all of a sudden and it’s not a good feeling.’

Enjolras shakes her head angrily, her blonde locks flying around her head: ‘Courf. You don’t need me to tell you how attractive, smart and interesting everybody -me included- thinks you are but i will cite my sources if I must. You have nothing to be insecure about.’

Courfeyrac just let’s out a frustrated wail and exclaims: But what if he doesn’t like me like that? Or worse yet: _What if he does???_ ’

Enjolras rolls her eyes. ‘You won’t find out if you don’t take your own advice and ask him. I need to get going and finish this paper.’

With that, Enjolras mercilessly closes her laptop, cutting off the rant Courfeyrac was about to launch into and leaving him gaping at his screen.

‘No need to be so rude’, he murmurs to himself and turns his face towards the wall to pout in peace. He is not even granted that small mercy as his roommate looks up from his book, stating: ‘Your friend’s got a point, you know.’

Courfeyrac suddenly remembers that Marius understands French. He buries his face in his hands. ‘Not you, too. I thought you and I were on the same boat, pining away?’ Through his fingers, he can see Marius blushing, sheepishly running a hand through his black hair.

‘About that...I might have ended up confessing my feelings to her last night? In front of her dorm. At two am. Uhm. Yeah.’

Courfeyrac immediately sits up. He might feel miserable about his own love life right now but his friends have always been the most important thing in his life. ‘Well? How did it go?’

Marius’ blush deepens as a shy smile spreads over his face. ‘It went really well. She...she kind of noticed me too and she was actually planning to ask me out next week? We’re going on a date tomorrow.’

Courfeyrac doesn’t bother to suppress the urge to embrace Marius and envelops his friend in a hug. ‘That’s amazing, I am so proud of you my friend!’ Marius, who's family growing up hadn’t been the warmest environment, and who's still not really used to physical affection, awkwardly pats his back as he says:

‘Well, it worked out with Cosette for me. Maybe you should try and talk to Combeferre, too?’

  
*

 

As the skype connection dials up, Courfeyrac tries very hard not to be nervous. It isn’t going too well if he’s perfectly honest and he’s fiddling with the hem of his shirt, only barely resisting  the urge to mess with his hair using his own camera picture as a mirror. It’s a sunday and he and Combeferre have planned to skype today (Courfeyrac pretends he doesn’t call it a date in his head) and he is going to confess his feelings because Courfeyrac is a very tactile person and he can’t keep pretending to Combeferre that his heart is going a normal rate whenever they see each other on screen.

 

‘Hi Courf’ Combeferre’s voice takes him out of his reverie. ‘Hi to you too.’ He smiles at him. Combeferre looks kind of restless, his hair messy and shirt slightly off center but his smile is as bright as ever. Courfeyrac’s decision suddenly seems like the only possibility. He clears his throat to shake off any remaining awkwardness.

‘Look, I know this is supposed to be like, casual and fun, but can I talk to you about something?’

Combeferre looks a bit surprised but nods encouragingly. ‘Sure. What is it?’

Courfeyrac makes himself look at his camera as he says: ‘Ok, this might be pretty damn obvious or it might not be but I really really like you. And I know it’s all a bit difficult with us being in different countries and all but I might also really really want to date you?’ After a second, he adds nervously: ‘If you’re at all interested, of course. If not then just…. ignore this?’

Combeferre hasn’t really reacted throughout all of his little speech but he is smiling at him now, and it’s a smile Courfeyrac has only ever seen hinted at, a pale echo of the full, wonderful, soft smile on Combeferre’s face right now. He allows himself to think that maybe that’s a good sign. When Combeferre speaks he sounds a little flustered:

‘I was actually planning on telling you approximately the same thing today? But yeah. Yes. Absolutely.’

They both just sit there for a moment, grinning at each other like the lovestruck dorks they are. Courfeyrac breaks the silence, his voice giddy as he struggles for words to convey what he’s feeling:

‘So… that went better than I expected. In fact, it went spectacularly well. I don’t even know anymore. You’re amazing. You are so amazing Combeferre, you know that right? You’re the best. You’re my...you’re my boyfriend? Shit, I really want to hug you right now.’

Courfeyrac is aware that he’s babbling but he can’t really help it. Combeferre just shakes his head at him fondly.

‘I really want to hug you too, you nerd.’

They both laugh, but then Combeferre seems suddenly serious again.

‘So, now that you had your ‘confessions’, it’s time for mine. I feel somewhat awkward bringing this up even though I know I really shouldn’t, but even though we are essentially in a long distance relationship now and dating since approximately 8 minutes you should probably know that I am asexual. I don’t have sex. At all. Ever. I hope that’s okay.’

Combeferre isn’t looking at him, is looking at his hands instead, but Courfeyrac can’t help the bubbly laughter welling up in him, can’t keep it from escaping his throat.

‘Is that okay? It’s so okay, Combeferre. It’s fantastic, actually. We’ll be the fucking A team!’

He can see the gears turning in Combeferre’s brain, can see him come to the right conclusion and when he tentatively asks: ‘So...you’re ace too? You and I, we’re both ace?’,he nods enthusiastically, as incredibly, stunningly happy as he hasn’t been in years. ‘Yes, Combeferre. We are both ace. And we will be so great together.’  

 

*

 

Courfeyrac can’t help the tears welling up in his eyes as he reads the little red number on the scale: 63lbs. Way over the limitations for his flight. And he really can’t leave anymore stuff behind. He’s swearing under his breath, the swears coming in English more naturally than in French by now, and his roommate - his friend- Marius decides to save the day once again. ‘You can leave some stuff with me. I will send it to you later, okay?’

’Marius, you are a star and you deserve all good things in this world. Please visit me in Paris and let me make it up to you.’  

Marius smiles at him. ‘You know I will as soon as I have the money. I’ll miss you a lot, Courf.’

Courfeyrac can feel more tears in his eyes but well, it’s the last day of his exchange semester and he has been perpetually crying for what feels like a week, so he really can’t be bothered. ‘I’ll miss you too Marius. I will miss everybody. But i’ll be back at some point, I promise.’

Marius gets up from his bed and comes over to help him heave his suitcase back to the floor so he can unpack and repack. ‘You have a lot of good things to look forward to in Paris, you know. Your family, your friends. And a boyfriend to meet.’

 

Outside the train window, the world is flying by and Combeferre is too restless to sit still. Courfeyrac has been back in France for a week and now that Combeferre has a whole weekend off, he’s finally making the trip to Paris to see him. It still feels surreal that someone who was previously several time zones and an ocean away is suddenly in only a train journey’s distance. Combeferre has packed a weekend’s worth of stuff for himself but he also knows when the last train to Brussels leaves tonight. Just in case. They have talked about this and even though they both agree that seeing each other in person will be fantastic, there’s a tiny bit of uncertainty left and Combeferre is the one taking the bigger risk here. Apart from that, he is really fucking excited.

When the train finally pulls into the station, Combeferre feels like his heart is beating its way out of his chest. His hands are sweaty and he wipes them on his jeans before grabbing his duffel bag and heading out onto the platform. He doesn’t spot Courfeyrac at first, because it’s busy and there are so many travellers around him, but then he catches a flash of familiar black curls behind a couple arguing loudly in German and starts walking in that direction. Courf has seen him too and they meet halfway. Combeferre wraps his arms around him tightly and all that comes to his mind is that Courfeyrac is even smaller than he thought he would be, which is to say really, really tiny.

When Combeferre finally let’s him go, Courfeyrac looks up at him and exclaims: ‘How are you so freaking tall?!’ 

Combeferre laughs. ‘Hello to you too. It’s fantastic to see you.’

Courfeyrac grins back sheepishly and amends: ‘Hi. i’m so glad you’re here.’ Then they’re hugging again. Courfeyrac mutters ‘You smell really nice’ into his shirt and Combeferre has to resist the urge to just scoop him up into his arms and spin him around, because he’s so, so happy to be there. With some difficulty, Courfeyrac disentangles himself again.

‘Come on, let’s go. I’ll show you my place and you’ll meet my flatmate.’

Combeferre willingly follows Courfeyrac towards the ticket vendor machine and their shoulders bump as they make their way down to the metro. The carriage is relatively empty and they catch seats next to each other. Combeferre looks at Courfeyrac next to him and feels giddy. This is his boyfriend, _irl_ , next to him on a seat in the Parisian metro, they’re on their way to his apartment and they’ll spend all weekend with each other. He wants to hold Courfeyrac’s hand but isn’t sure if that’s okay. They still have a lot of boundaries to figure out. Luckily, Courfeyrac seems to be on the same page: ‘Can I hold your hand? Is that okay?’

Combeferre doesn’t answer, just offers his hand to him, palm up. Courfeyrac puts his smaller hand in his, his skin several shades darker than Combeferre’s, his nails painted a bright electric blue. It feels just right. ‘I like your nail polish’ he tells him.

Courfeyrac smiles. ‘Jehan did it for me. They have a very extensive colour collection. They might want to do your nails too, you know.’ Combeferre knows that Jehan is Coufeyrac’s flatmate, an artistic literature student with slightly morbid tendencies. ‘Nail polish isn’t exactly practical in my line of work but we’ll see.’

When they exit the metro and walk down the street to Courf’s apartment, they’re still holding hands and it’s just about the best feeling in the world. They wind up at the door of a small apartment on the third floor and when it opens, a chubby person with long, pastel pink hair and immaculately winged eyeliner stands in the hallway. They greet Courfeyrac haphazardly and hold out their hand to Combeferre.

‘Hi, I’m Jehan, i would do the kissing thing except I don’t like to kiss strangers so I usually do my greetings German style. Courf hasn’t shut up about you ever since he’s back in Paris.’

Combeferre takes the hand offered to him and shakes it. ‘Hi, I’m Combeferre and I’m glad you don’t do the kisses because we only do one kiss where I come from, except sometimes we do three, and your french ways are confusing as hell.’ They smile at each other before Jehan turns to Courf and says:

’I’m going to Grantaire’s to paint. I’ll be back on Monday, probably. You two have fun!’ With that, they’re out of the door.

 

Courfeyrac and Combeferre stand in the hallway and look at each other. Courfeyrac clears his throat. ‘Ok, how about I show you around?’

The flat is small but cosy, with a relatively big kitchen, a door to what Courf says is Jehan’s room which he ‘won’t enter without having taken proper security measures’, and his own room, small with colourful curtains and bedding. There are pictures of his friends everywhere and Combeferre recognizes most of them from images Courfeyrac has sent him. He wanders around the room, taking a closer look.

There is one picture of Courfyrac as a middle schooler, smiling a braced smile next to an angry looking blonde kid who has worked a red bow into their military style cropped hair. Their arms are wound around each other’s shoulders. ‘Is that Enjolras?’ he asks. Courfeyrac nods fondly. ‘Yeah, that’s her. I gave her that bow back in second grade. Her parents always forced her to keep her hair really short but as soon as she was at school she always put bows and pins in anyways. She actually still has that particular one.’ The picture next to it is a recent one, taken just before Courfeyrac left to study abroad. It also shows Courfeyrac and Enjolras, deep in discussion, while Courfeyrac french braids Enjolras’ hip-length hair.

‘You’ve been friends for a long time.’

‘We’ve been friends forever. I don’t know how I do it.’

Despite his words, Courfeyrac’s smile is warm when he talks about his best friend. ‘I’m pretty sure Enjolras will like you. You’ll meet her tomorrow.’ Combeferre turns back to Courfeyrac. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’ Courfeyrac get’s up from where he’s been sitting on his bed and drags Combeferre towards the kitchen. ‘Come on, let’s make dinner.’

 

Combeferre is chopping vegetables and Courfeyrac is mastering the stove and they talk as they always have and it’s as domestic as it’ll ever get. Combeferre is suddenly extremely glad that the universe has aligned in just the right way and he has met Courfeyrac. He scoops up his veggies, drops them into the pot and places a kiss on Courfeyrac’s head in the process.

‘I’m really glad I am here with you.’

Courfeyrac wipes his hands on his towel, then turns around and winds his arms around Combeferre. ‘Me too. So glad.’

Dinner is delicious and afterwards, they end up on Courfeyrac’s bed and Combeferre has his arms wrapped tightly around Courfeyrac. The latter’s head rests on Combeferre’s chest and they’re both cosy and warm and content and Courfeyrac is so happy he actually tears up a bit, but it doesn’t matter because he can just turn his head and hide his face in Combeferre’s t-shirt.

‘Courf? Are you okay?’ Combeferre’s voice is soft and a bit sleepy. Courfeyrac takes one of his boyfriend’s arms from around himself and interlocks their fingers. ‘Yeah. I’m fine.’ Then, a moment later, he adds: ‘We really are the fucking A-team, aren’t we?’ Combeferre chuckles softly, presses a kiss to Courfeyrac’s temple. ‘Yeah. We really fucking are.’

**Author's Note:**

> (you can also come and talk to me at aroferre on tumblr)


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